


Be Courageous

by easternfront



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Insecurity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:51:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1791121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easternfront/pseuds/easternfront
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes being away too long makes heart go softer, or in some cases memories grow harder, but stubborn love just won’t leave the mind and body alone. Arthur comes home from a business trip and Eames is too silly to remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Courageous

The restaurant sits nicely between a hair saloon and a patisserie in a quiet side street just of Saint-Germain Boulevard. It's a street Arthur has passed many times but never entered. He stops opposite the restaurant and lights a cigarette just to give him a moment to check his surroundings and people.

It's a surprisingly big restaurant with three front windows and seems to be quite full even though it's barely eight pm. There are more couples than families or groups of friends.  And then few tourists and that one typical elderly french gentleman reading Le Monde in the miniature table by the street. It was a lovely warm evening for early May.

He'd taken a straight flight from New York that had landed just two hours ago. The minute he turned on his phone he got several text messages which most he'd decided to ignore. He'd just finished a fully legal corporate job and had gotten hassled and slapped on the wrist by two over enthusiastic FBI  agents reminding him that they'd be more than willing to drag his history into the daylight and throw his ass into jail if he didn't leave right away.

They did this kind of harassment when the army has denied their assistance to help FBI's inquiries with the technique. Since they actually couldn't attack the army itself they spent countless of hours bothering ex-army dreamers that still had enough connection with them to make the message heard. This time he hadn't even bothered with the guys, just simply speeded up the education process with the board of trustees and dispersed his team without any noise.

His quick exit had denied him an overdue visit to see Dom and the kids but he'd go to California in August anyway for James's eighth birthday. He'd make up for it then and stay longer than usual.

He'd finally finished paying his three apartments around the globe legally, with all the money trails secured and double checked and was going to enjoy the one in Pasadena wholeheartedly after the renovations were due late this summer. Getting huge amounts of money for a tough job seemed to be the easiest part of the job. Figuring out how to deflect the interest of the tax people and terrorist activity units was the hardest part of his job. On top  of that with most European banks not being that enthusiastic to store international money in the current economical situation made the life of a mind professional difficult.

The oligarch selling him his Paris apartment was more than happy to receive a laptop bag filled with part of the 500 Euro bills Saito had given to him as a paycheck though. The apartment was a mistress lair and was, all things considered, quite nice and ready to be moved in right away. Small one bedroom loft in an old garment factory with a huge living room space and a lovely terrace. Walls were still a little bit too pink and rosy for his taste but he'd let it slide for now. Why the sudden need to offload the mistresses apartment never happily came up.The russian had signed the deeds and told him to enjoy Paris and left with the money and his two huge gorillas. 

He hated cash. Cash in every form he'd received the past few years: dollars, euros, pounds, all the same. Carrying it around was heavy and unnerving and even silly. His French cleaning lady had been completely unaware that the two gym bags she had to shift around the apartment were actually filled with his whole European cash load: "Mr. Levine you should not leave things lying around! People fall over!" The statement was always the same and was soon after accompanied with a small but vicious kick sending the bags away from in front of her hoover or a mop.

He stubbed his cigarette and walked slowly across the street to the restaurant. He stepped in and the delicious smell of basil and garlic entered his nose. He walked over to the furthest side of the bar and sat down next to a couple holding hands and sitting hip to hip in these ancient bar stools. He asked for a double whiskey on ice and settled to watch the entrance of the restaurant. For a while he kept swirling the glass and watched the perspiration sliding down the side of the glass. 

It was his first whiskey in weeks since he stayed off alcohol during all jobs. Being even slightly buzzed during a job had never led to anything but total disasters as far as he was concerned. He knew many dreamers had to have few strong ones during long jobs in order to be able to sleep well. Dom had never shied away from the drink during their jobs and even preferred if the mark was suitably wasted since it seemed to make the extractors job easier. If a talkative drunk on top, then talkative drunk in dreams.

He was again glancing his watch: almost 8.30. He was fully alert but knew he'd have to sleep well or his migraine was going to hit hard tomorrow when the jet lag took a hold of him. He wasn't sure why he'd agreed to come directly here without even changing clothes. He suddenly felt like a overly dressed business man with his tightly buttoned shirt and a perfect tie in a balanced knot. He pulled away his tie rolled it to his pocket and opened few buttons. The barmaid came over and without a request filled his tumbler again.

"Waiting for someone?" she leaned over and dropped few ice cubes to the glass.

"Quoi...what?"

"You waiting for someone? Date? No?"

"I don't really know." He was now smiling and shaking his head. He really didn't know and it was beginning to bug him.

"It's a shame if you don't know." She was winking and turned away towards a group of men at the other end of the bar.

He didn't know but was beginning to think it was his own fault. He'd been in this situation few times before and had sworn never to end up in it again. Being stood up for a date at the age of 32 still hurt as much as if he were that 19 year old  community college student afraid of everyone in that small Virginian restaurant. You can only drink so many coffees and glasses of water before the waiters began looking at you with those sad, understanding eyes.

Kevin Rowles had more than charmed his way into his life in that small town. Selling steel support beams for building companies around the north east had brought him around and round back to his life. On and off since his eighteenth birthday. Motels and drive-inn's were their usual meeting ground and he'd even taken Kevin to his home when mom was on her night shift at the 24 hour store. He knew Kevin's schedule and routes better than Kevin or his wife put together.

Kevin liked to appraise him and called him beautiful every time they spend time together. He had been the first guy Arthur had ever slept with and felt he had been lucky that Kevin had found him in the small town he was stuck in. Kevin would usually make sure he felt relaxed and happy after every meeting. He was a gangly and thin teenager with only few friends and most of them had either moved away to colleges or signed up for military as it was the heyday of recruiting. He still always knew he wanted more but was settling because the weekly and bi-weekly encounters made him feel attractive and special.

One very unhappy encounter at the back seat of Kevin's Ford had led him to a teary eyed demand for a real date and not just these back seat romps. Kevin had agreed and promised to take him out for a real nice meal at the new restaurant he'd passed in Richmond. So one Saturday evening he had dressed into his graduation suit, driven his old, duct taped Datsun to Richmond and been escorted to a nice table in this small italian restaurant reserved under his name. He'd arrived ten minutes late and began worrying after thirty minutes had passed. He'd seen the staff turn people away since there were no tables vacant.

A waiter had shown up and asked if he was expecting someone. His only answer had been to nod and take a sip from his water glass. He didn't own a cell phone and was just sitting frozen at his table, still believing Kevin would show up. After an hour the waiter, now obviously a manager, had appeared and asked him to more or less to order something or fuck off. He'd gotten flushed and stood up so quickly that the water glass had toppled over resulting the manager to raise his voice even more. He'd scrambled through the restaurant and walked over the street to the closest alley way and sat down next to the wall.

While sitting on that cold concrete he still believed something had gone wrong and Kevin had encountered some problem or he'd himself gotten the date wrong. Of course deep down he knew that was not the case but thinking that it was all some universal mix up prevented him from crying. He'd driven home, dragged the phone to his room and called Kevin again and again, convinced something horrible had happened. No one had answered that evening, nor the following day. He didn't know any other way of contacting Kevin but his cell phone number and his home address outside Washington.

It had taken all his might to stop calling that Sunday evening and face defeat. He was certain Kevin would come the following Friday since his route would take him past this way from the south on the 95. He sped home from school and sat next to the phone the whole evening and made evil eyes towards his mother who was gossiping with her sister for an hour. He'd stormed out of the house and walked aimlessly around the two motels Kevin used to stay over. Not a sight of his Ford or the company truck he sometimes also used.

He wandered home close to midnight and tried calling Kevin's number. An automated voice of the woman telling him that the number was no longer in service had made him burst out in tears. He curled up on the couch and fell asleep. The following morning he woke up to his mother sitting on the edge of the sofa and running her hand over his head:

"Is it some...boy?" She was crying.

He'd just nodded and leaned to his mom's side.

"You'll be fine. You'll get over it, don't worry."

They had never discussed about his relationships after that. He hadn't offered and she hadn't asked. A week later he'd walked to a recruitment center and two months later he'd been sitting across a metal table to a beautiful french brunette called Malerie.

*****

A small shriek from a group of girls passing the opened restaurant door woke him up from his stupor. He pulled out couple of twenties and settled them under his glass. With that he walked out of the restaurant and headed for home. It was a warm evening and he took of his jacket and swung it around his shoulder. Paris, the city of romance, had gotten even to him. He'd even ran to the shuttle at the airport just to make it in time for here. He didn't really know why or what he'd been expecting. A candlelight dinner, hand holding and kisses or a fuck?

Every one of those sounded nice but did he really need them? What he needed was sleep, lot's of it. He picked up the speed and was passing couples holding hand and tourists left and right. He was a little out of breath when he arrived at the front door of his building. He padded his pant pockets to find the key. Just as he was about to check the jacket pockets he felt someone stopping behind him. Out of old habit his shoulders scrunched down and his thigh muscles tensed: he was ready to either run or fight

For few fractions of seconds nothing seemed to move. He braced his right arm against the door and with a swift turn aimed a vicious kick towards the nether regions of the man standing behind him. The kick however didn't land but left his leg trapped in a vice grip of two hands around his calf. He had however anticipated this and delivered a smooth, clean open palm hit against the man's nose making his head flap back with a mighty holler:

"Oh for fuck sakes Arthur!"

"Shithead!"

He was lowering down to his jacket that he had dropped and grabbed his keys from the pocket. He fumbled to get the key into the lock had heard muffled moans from behind. He was about to walk in but halted at the doorstep. His hesitation however turned out to be a mistake as the man was now pushing both of them inside the hallway and took a strong hold of his throat and pushed his head against the stone wall.

"Why the fuck did you need to do that? It's fucking broken!"

"Fuck you!" He could feel the grip tighten just above the larynx, effectively cutting of the blood flow of the major arteries in the neck. These hands had killed. He'd seen it with his own eyes.

Just as quickly the grip around his throat was grabbed it was now loosening and detaching altogether. He slid down to a crouch and cough and smoothed his own hands across his neck. Everything had ended before the main door had even clicked shut. The small sound echoed in the hallway and deep breathing from opposite sides of the hallway were almost synchronized. The small window above the door was letting a small strip of light into the tiled floor. Legs with scratched brown brogues were spread out at the foot of the stairs. His phone was lying on the floor with it's battery and covers flown apart.

"It's fuckin' broken and this blood will never wash of."

"Serves you right for sneaking up on me."

There were more huffs and a stifled laugh coming from the other side: "I didn't sneak. If I'd been  sneaking you would not have heard me. Trust me! Besides you knew it was me."

"So what if I did? Same thing."

"What the hell is wrong with you pet? You cannot go around kicking guys in the balls and break their noses just because they missed an appointment."

"An appointment! Appointment! Screw you! Get away from here there's ‘No Loitering’ sign somewhere in here."

He pushed himself up and began collecting his cell phone parts from the floor: "Oh yeah, and modern people use these when they are indisposed or unavailable to attend 'appointments'! Let me see that nose...it's not even broken." He took a light grip from the top of the bone and ran his fingers through the entire length of the bone: "At least not any more than it was before."

"Ouch! Stop your help-yourself-medic crap."

"You've been completely satisfied to it before."

"That was before and severals years younger. Fuck it hurts!"

"Stop being a wuss."

“A wuss, me? Me? When you are the one upset about me not making it for our rendezvous...or meeting or what the hell do you expect me to call it. Stop fiddling with my nose!”

He pulled away from Eames and sat down to the steps. The phone refused to light up and work and after awhile he got tired and threw it in the corner of the hallway:  “I’m due for a number change anyway.”

“...which I will obviously not get, right?”

“Fuck you!” He felt silly stomping up the stairs but he didn’t care at the moment. The whiskey was making him sweat and his head had began hurting. By the time he reached the sixth floor he felt like his brains were pounding their way out of the back of his head. The locks were tight as ever and he dropped his keys in front of the door few times before getting the flimsy door to open. Why did he still insisted on keeping this ragged door? He should have had it changed ages ago to a much stronger one that would allow him atleast a few minutes head start through the next buildings roof if something went wrong.

What would go wrong though? He hadn’t done illegal jobs since Fisher and certainly he didn’t have to anymore with the money still flowing from Saito. No one was after him, or  would ever if he’d stay on the corporate world and taught people instead of stealing.

He opened the kitchen windows and shutters and sat by the table with a sigh and just looked at the rooftops and street lights illuminating the buildings. A fresh breeze cooled his face. He heard the front door closing and a familiar cling of the keys being laid to the hallway table.

Eames wandered slowly around the kitchen, opened the tap and seemed to be washing his face. Soon a glass of water and a dose of aspirin powder was handed to him.

“It isn’t broken. Just as good because all french doctors are butchers anyway. I’d look like a Quasimodo after their handling…”

“Don’t do that. Don’t promise.”

“Promise what? Anything or nothing? You’re a grown up darling and I cannot help if you have issues…”

“I don’t have issues. I just have a problem with people who don’t keep their promises and lie.” He took a big gulp of the aspirin water and handed the rest of it to Eames. The man took the glass but simultaneously took a hold of his hand:

“I have never said I’d keep my promises but I have never lied to you. Never, and if you try to say that then I might just as well walk out of here now because I will not be called a liar when I’m not one. And I know all about your ability to forgive...Cobb? How many times has he lied…”

“NO! That’s different. Totally different!”

“Why? Why is it different? Why is him lying to you and Mal any different than me possibly doing it to you...which I haven’t  done . Can you stop demanding things from me that you don’t from others.” Eames took the glass and emptied down to his throat. “Why am I different that Cobb or your mum or anyone?”

“Because I want to love you. I want you to be the one I can trust, in everything.” He was sweating so much that his shirt stuck to his back after leaning against the chair.

“And because I forgot that I was supposed to meet you means you cannot trust me?”

“Yes.”

“You want to know why I was late?”

He shrugged his shoulders and rested his forehead against the wood of the table top.

“I was late today because first I had a nice chat with a lovely lady at De Beers, where I will never go again by the way, terrible advice she gave. Then I went to that nice silversmith next to the cafe at the left bank and after going there I forgot where we were suppose to meet because I never write shit down like you and by the time I remembered I decided to come right here instead.”

The chair next to Arthur creaked from the weight of Eames and just from the corner of his eyes he saw him place something on the table just next to his head.

“I wasn’t going to show you these because first I was afraid you would hit me, but since you already did hit me and I said I’d never lie, these are what I got. Bought and paid for, nothing original, nothing gaudy or silly. And I really don’t know how this thing goes but you’re a smart cookie and you can come up with the idea yourself so I’ll just shut up now.”

With that he leaned into the chair and took a deep breath and began sighing at his bloody shirt. On the table were two silver bands with a solid cold stripe running around them. One slightly smaller than the other.

“So I guess I should kneel and ask you to marry me but my shirt is bloody and my knees and bollocks hurt and I know you would not appreciate the gesture any more than this. And...I just don’t know if I have screwed up or not.”

Arthur touched both of the rings, swirled them around the table surface and breathed steadily in and out: “You want me to, marry you?”

“”We’re both really crap at this aren’t we? I don’t know about marriage, but share these and then figure out things.” Eames took one of them in his hands and presented it to Arthur with a questioning look on his face.

“You went to get these today? Before or after my flight left New York?”

“After. Does it matter?”

He shook his head: “I suppose not.”

The ring made a bright clink when it landed back on the table. Eames slid at the end of his chair and took a hold of his knee and hand: “Did you really think we were going on for a date today?”

“I was happy that I was going to see you after these weeks, I don’t know. Yes, I was thinking it was a date even though we never  do dates.”

“What do you mean we don’t do dates? We always go on dates…”

“No we don’t.”

“Sweetheart I don’t know what your idea of a date is, but going to lunches, dinners, movies or walks together, just two of us, is going out on a date. I always want to spend time with you, here, in a restaurants, driving around in that silly Punto and trying to cop a feel on a plane without the attendants noticing. I want to be with and have you all the time...you have no idea how hard these four weeks have been. I hate Paris. I only like it when you are here.”

“Marrying?”

“Fuck if I know what it’s called, if anything. I need you to…” Eames looked outside the window and placed his hand on Arthur’s neck: “I need you to know I will always be there for you. Whether we’re here or in New York or Tokyo or out there anywhere separate or together. And yes, a part of me wants others to know it too, if you’ll let me have that.”

Arthur swirled the rings on his hands and slipped both of them to his index finger: “These are not inscribed.”

“No because I thought we’d do those for each other...like here’s to you asshole, or see you on top love.”

With that Arthur smiled and placed the rings on Eames’s hand: “Well do it then!”

“What?”

“Ask me then, like a  real man  would from his little fiancée...I want to see you squirm.”

Eames coughed and with a grunt knelt on the floor: “Will you Arthur “never-in-a-million-years” Levine marry me Robert “always-ready-for-good-times” Eames to be my awful, unpredictable man that turns me on all the time, even when he’s a sweaty aspirin mess in a small pink kitchen?”

“Should I?”

“Why not?”

 


End file.
